


The Hooded Man

by roe87



Series: Steve/Bucky Historical au's [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Bandits & Outlaws, Bickering, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Crusades, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Folklore, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gay Steve Rogers, Grumpy Bucky Barnes, Humor, Knight Steve Rogers, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Muslim Bucky Barnes, Muslim Character, Oaths & Vows, Opposites Attract, Pagan Gods, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Robbery, Robin Hood References, Robin of Sherwood - Freeform, Romantic Gestures, Sassy Steve Rogers, Steampunk, Top Steve Rogers, Turkish Knight Bucky Barnes, Türkçe | Turkish, battle husbands, the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roe87/pseuds/roe87
Summary: Steve and Bucky meet in a prison cell in Jerusalem at the end of The Third Crusade.One man a Christian and English knight; the other a Muslim and Turkish knight. On opposite sides, both sick of war, they escape together and travel to England for sanctuary.Upon arriving in England they discover the land in turmoil, plagued by the tyranny of Prince John in the absence of the king.Steve and Bucky won't stand for injustice, and when they take on some of the local sheriff's men they find themselves branded outlaws.Seeking refuge in Sherwood forest, they discover their destiny awaits them there.(Robin of Sherwood au, but make it steampunk)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Steve/Bucky Historical au's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993342
Comments: 26
Kudos: 69





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I've been rather obsessed with Robin Hood all my life, and I just really felt like doing this au. Robin of Sherwood (1980s) was already pretty Steampunk, also the first iteration of Robin Hood to show a Muslim bestie, Nasir.
> 
> Btw, if you enjoy folk music and haven't heard the title song yet, [Robin The Hooded Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WorgQGCFeLM) by Clannad, I urge you to listen! (Yes, that's Enya.)
> 
> Also, yes, I will definitely be referencing a lot of other Robin Hood media, especially Prince of Thieves.
> 
> ~~~

_August, 1191_

_It is nearing the end of The Third Crusade of King Richard the lion heart in the holy land of Jerusalem._

_Before the march on the city of Acre, the king's army had detained more than two thousand Muslim hostages as a means to ensure General Saladin would fulfil the terms of surrender._

_Richard wants to advance his army south and meet Saladin's forces, but not with prisoners in tow. So he orders the execution of all Muslim hostages, which later becomes known as The Massacre of Ayyadieh._

Steve made his way through the hostage camp.

Some sixty prisoners from the Muslim army and folks from the surrounding towns were locked up in the occupied buildings; locked in rooms with too many people, or chained and tied to the walls.

King Richard wanted to advance on Saladin, and he wasn't planning on doing so dragging the prisoners along with him. The order to execute them all was coming, Steve could feel it.

And he had had enough.

Steve was sick of war, sick of the fighting. Killing knights and soldiers in an opposing army was what he'd expected, but slaughtering women and children... How could that be just?

Steve had whispered as much to his English friend the night before, but found their views did not match.

"They're all infidels," his fellow knight had replied. "Their ways are ungodly."

Steve had not replied. What was the point? It was not the first time he'd had differing opinions to the English; his mother being of Irish descent.

But Steve knew that to petition the king in such a way would surely bring about his own imprisonment and execution. So he listened to his gut, and he made a plan.

But he'd need help.

He carried a jug of water to one of the small buildings. Outside, two of the knights were standing guard on the dusty ground, eating fruits stolen from the occupied village.

"Don't know why you bother with that," one of the knights, Hodge, commented.

"It's just water," Steve said, and indicated he wanted to go inside. "If you please."

Hodge laughed nastily, but he did get up to unlock the door.

Steve paid close attention to where Hodge kept the key, as he planned to steal it later. When the door was opened, Steve thanked Hodge (though it pained him to do so) and he walked inside the building.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the sour smell of all the prisoners in the room met Steve's nose like a slap in the face.

The conditions were horrible.

Steve went first to the group of young mothers with their children, and some older people huddling together. They had been afraid of him at first, and were still wary but Steve had brought them water and snuck in some food a few times now. He handed the jug of water to a young mother, so she could distribute it out.

This time, Steve needed to ask her something.

"Hey," he said softly, so they weren't overheard. "Do you speak English?" She looked at him blankly, so Steve tried to mime with his hand around his mouth, to show words coming out. "Speak? English? Any of you speak English? Or French, perhaps?"

She shook her head, and another young woman nudged her and said something in Arabic.

Steve spoke no Arabic, though he was starting to recognise the flow of some words, the _shh-shh_ sounds mixed in with vowels. He didn't understand it though.

The two women spoke quietly, then pointed across the room to another prisoner. Steve looked around, trying to see which prisoner they were indicating.

"With the arm?" Steve asked, holding his left arm up to indicate the prisoner with his arm in a sling.

The women nodded.

"Thank you," Steve told them. "Uh, shukran? Shukran." He got up and picked his way through the prisoners on the floor, to the young knight chained up at the wall.

He was young, maybe Steve's age, with long dark hair and a short beard on his face. His eyes were a pale grey, and he watched Steve curiously as Steve crouched down beside him.

"Hello," Steve murmured, his eyes flicking to the man's left arm. The bandages were bloody, it would probably become infected if he stayed in this prison much longer. "I need someone who speaks English," Steve told him. "Do you speak English?"

The man blinked once, and Steve hoped he could understand. He was very handsome, even in this condition, though Steve knew he had a particular fondness for brunets.

"Um, another language?" Steve tried. "Latin? French? Anything?"

"I speak many languages, Christian," the young man said. "What do you want?"

"You understand me?" Steve asked, as the man nodded. "I need help. Do you know the area? Past the forest?"

The grey eyes studied Steve calmly, and the man nodded.

"Would you be able to walk?" Steve asked. "I'll need a guide, but we'll have to go on foot."

"Better on foot through that forest," he replied. "Yes, Christian, I can walk."

"My name is Steve," Steve told him. "And we have to go tonight. Will you tell the others? Can you be ready?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"What's your name?" Steve asked.

"Nasir Gözübüyük."

"Well, that's quite a mouthful," Steve commented.

"Then call me James," he retorted. "My father gave me a Christian name too."

"Why's that?" Steve asked.

"Because he was from England."

"Well, we got that in common," Steve said. "Alright, James. I'll be back tonight. Be ready."

When the time came, and most of the king's camp was busy eating their rations for the night, Steve went back to the building of hostages he intended to set free.

He was acting alone, but he was confident in his mission. Steve approached the door again, this time with the food rations for the guards. This distracted them enough for Steve to stick a knife in their throats, covering their mouths with his hand as he did.

Steve was swift, a master with blades, and he did not shed a tear for Hodge or the other guard. Steve very strongly believed that protecting vulnerable and innocent people was God's way; _not_ war.

He took the keys and let himself in, tossing the keys over to the young mother he'd spoken to before. Then Steve arranged the bodies of the guards outside to make it look as though they were merely sitting, slumped against the wall.

He heard soft murmurs of _"_ Yalla, yalla _,"_ from inside the building as they used the keys to free themselves.

Steve looked out at the dirt track leading back up to the army's camp. He hoped no one would come down here for some time, but they still had to hurry. He shut the door and went about helping untie the prisoners, and help them to stand.

The young man, James, came up to Steve and spoke quietly in English. "They won't be able to walk fast," he warned. "Many here are old, or injured, and carrying children."

Steve realised he was right. "Then we'll need a diversion. Can you lead them into the forest?"

"Yes," James replied, gazing at Steve with something resembling awe. "Will you follow?"

"I'll try," Steve said. "Don't wait for me, just go when you hear a big bang, okay?"

James nodded. "Alright, Christian." He clapped his right hand onto Steve's shoulder. "Try not to die."

And for the first time in many months, Steve actually smiled.

"I'll try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw if you're into period docu-drama, I really enjoyed Rise of Empires: Ottoman, on Netflix.  
> The language is in English but it's Turkish made with Turkish actors. (If you were curious about the sort of accent Bucky would have when speaking English to Steve.)
> 
> The period is set about a century later than Robin Hood/end of The Third Crusade, but the set and all the clothes are so nice. 😄


	2. Two

Steve knew enough about gun powder that if it were dry and any naked flame were to come near it, then a big bang would surely follow.

He'd snuck back inside the king's camp, to one of the gun powder stores, and tossed a lit torch on it before running away.

The explosion was epic, and a good enough distraction to allow the prisoners to slip out of their confinement and along the dirt track that led to the dense surrounding forest.

Steve checked the building they'd been in to make sure no one was left, then slipped away to the forest himself. He picked up their tracks easily, and he made sure to cover the tracks behind him as he caught up to their fleeing party.

James was at the head of the group, guiding them through the trees. Steve jogged up to the front, his armor clinking softly and his sword bouncing at his belt.

"Where are we going?" he asked, catching his breath at James's side.

"You're alive," the brunet replied, seeming mildly surprised.

"I am." Steve grinned. "So where are we going?"

"To the river," James pointed, "across, and then north to Tyre."

"The king's army will head south," Steve replied, looking about at the trees in the dark. This was a perilous trip, and as much as Steve wanted to escape himself, he also knew he couldn't leave the camp without trying to rescue more hostages.

"And he won't take the prisoners with him," James guessed.

Steve nodded. "I don't know when the killing will start, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow."

James gave him a look. "And you want to go back?"

"If I can save more people, I should try," Steve said. "It's what a knight should do."

"Hmm." James's dark brows bunched together. "It's not what a smart man would do."

Steve chuckled at that. "I can be smart about it."

"You'll get yourself killed, Christian," James scolded.

"While doing good deeds," Steve replied. "Way I see it, there's worse ways to go."

James clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Come with us to the river, and when we see the people safely across then I'll take you back to the camp."

"I should be able to find my way," Steve said.

"Not in the dark," James countered. "Besides, I am a knight too, and these are my people. I will go with you."

"Very well," Steve agreed. "Two knights against a king's army, then."

They saw the group of hostages to the river, James guiding them and instructing them all to assist each other in various languages.

One of the young mothers knew the way to Tyre, and agreed to lead the group there.

After helping them cross the river, Steve and James returned the way they'd come, heading back through the forest.

It was quiet, so quiet that a twig snapping under their feet echoed around the trees. They had to tread carefully.

The moon and stars were bright, giving them light enough for James to find the way back to camp.

The scene was not good, and Steve's heart fell. The killing had already begun.

He wanted to rush in, where the burning fires and the screaming was, but James held him back.

"We cannot save them, Christian," he said softly. "But look on the west side, there. We may be able to save people there."

James was right. There were many buildings housing the hostages, and some open encampments too. If they went to the far edge of the camp, freed the people there, they could have a chance.

Steve nodded in determination, handing James one of his knives. "Let's go."

They were able to free more prisoners; sneaking down to the camp and cutting the people loose, or breaking their chains.

They couldn't save everyone, there was just too many and the prisoners they'd already freed needed help. James urged Steve to leave, and there was something about him that made Steve listen. Instead of throwing himself back into the fray, Steve listened to James and retreated.

They led the second band of hostages into the forest, back to the river. They all crossed the river together.

They were lucky that the king's army was preoccupied at the camp, that they weren't followed. James led them north, and they caught up with their first group of freed hostages.

Together, they headed for Tyre, for food and water.

"You should wear a disguise," James said, as he and Steve walked side by side.

"I took my colors off," Steve reasoned.

James shook his head. "We will find something for you."

"We should find new bandages for your arm, too," Steve replied.

"I know a doctor," James said, "further north in Tripoli."

"Then let me go with you," Steve offered. "In thanks for your help tonight."

The corners of James's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Christian, it is I who must thank you for my freedom. I owe you my life."

Steve would've argued the point, but he wouldn't deny another knight his honor in deciding who he owed a debt to.

"When my arm is healed," James vowed, "where you go, I go. Until I save your life in return."

"I'm afraid I'm heading home," Steve told him. "My only wish now is to return home to my mother, if it's not already too late. I miss her so."

"Then that will be our journey, Christian," James said. "I will get you home to your mother."

"But what about your home?" Steve asked. "Don't you want to return?"

"Christian..." James shook his head. "There is nothing left for me to go home to."

Steve felt sad to hear that. "Then let us go to my home," he offered. "In England."


	3. Three

They found refuge for the most ailing of the hostages in Tyre, and also found some suitable cloth to cover Steve's clothes with. He left his armor behind, as it was still too recognisable as a crusader.

They headed north, with some of the group who were able to make the journey accompanying them, to Tripoli.

Steve was intrigued by James, and asked him many questions along the way.

"Where was your father from?"

"England?" James shrugged. "He didn't really say more than that."

"So you're half English and...?"

"No, Christian," James told him, "my father was half English, then he came to Anatolia where I was born."

"So a quarter English." Steve smiled at him. "Alright. Why did he call you James?"

"I was his only son," James explained. "He wanted me to carry on his family name, but only in secret and without telling my mother's family."

"What's the secret family name?" Steve asked, expecting something exciting.

"James Buchanan Barnes," James said, as Steve made a considering face.

"Well, that could be Scottish," he said. "The Buchanan part. Was he from Scotland, your father?"

James frowned in thought. "No. He was English."

"How strange," Steve said. "I like the Buchanan part. I've known so many James's, you see, and I have to be honest I don't really see you as a James."

"You may use Nasir," James pointed out.

"When we're travelling to England?" Steve tilted his head. "I think we better use James, or give you a nickname."

"Nick... name?" James frowned in confusion.

"Yeah, nickname," Steve said. "Um, like... a name made up by people who are close to you. An endearment."

James blinked at Steve, his piercing pale eyes boring into him. "Endearment?"

"I mean, yeah?" Steve smiled to hide his nerves. "Fondness?"

"Hm." James hummed. "And what would I call you?"

"Well, Steve is already shortened from Steven," he explained. "But you can call me something else if you want, I don't mind. Maybe not Christian when we're in England, though. We'll need to blend in."

"Hmmm." James nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Then you may choose for me an English name. This is your task."

Steve grinned. "I'll have to try some out first, see if they fit."

In Tripoli, they said farewell to the hostages they'd freed, as they all dispersed into the city and to the ports.

James was starting to feel unwell, a fever from his injured arm. Steve supported him as they searched for the doctor James wanted to see. Steve began to worry, but they found the doctor in a little building in a quiet back street.

She was a young black woman, and she also spoke multiple languages, speaking in Arabic first to James, then English to Steve when she realised he was English.

"You just caught me," she said, as she helped him to lay James on a bed. "I'm leaving the city, heading home."

"Sounds wise," Steve conceded, watching her set to work.

Her name was Shuri, she said, and she was from a place further south on the African continent, called Wakanda.

"Do you need to come with me?" Shuri offered, tending to James's arm. "You would both be safe there, you have my word."

"Thank you," Steve told her, handing over clean bandages when she needed them. "But I'm afraid I'm headed home to England. You can ask him when he wakes up, but he said he's coming with me."

"No problem." Shuri smiled at him. "Nasir will live, but his arm has been damaged. I think I can help with that, though."

Shuri wasn't just any doctor, Steve discovered, as she opened up a travelling chest to sift through her tools and works. Springs and coils popped up, some glowing a faint blue.

She had to be some sort of alchemist, Steve decided. And lucky for James that she was.

When James came to, Steve helped him to sit up and drink some of the medicine Shuri had waiting for him. Shuri spoke to James in Arabic (or what Steve presumed was Arabic, it sounded a little different) and they had a very charged conversation which involved a lot of side-eye at Steve and waving hand gestures.

Steve didn't mind, though he wondered what they were saying. Perhaps Shuri wanted James to go with her.

Over his clean bandages, Shuri fitted a marvellous piece of armor to James's left arm. The metal was shiny silver, with many plates and joints to allow it to move, and seemed less cumbersome than the armor Steve was used to.

"That's wonderful," Steve commented, watching James try out his movement.

"It will assist your arm to move," Shuri said with a wink. "Good thing I had it with me. A few more hours and I would be on the road, and you would've missed me."

James thanked her, and Steve thanked her too.

"How can we pay you?" Steve asked. "I'm afraid we came with nothing."

Shuri waved him off. "Nasir and I are old friends. But you can repay me by looking after him, eh." She tapped her finger onto Steve's chest to make her point.

Shuri was young and shorter than Steve, but still quite intimidating when she stared him down.

"With my life," Steve promised.

Shuri nodded at this, seemingly satisfied. She gave them more medicine for James to take on their journey, plus a generous ration of food and a purse of coins.

"To pay your way onto a ship home," she said, urging them to take the purse. "How else were you going to get home, eh?"

Steve and James shared a look. "Um, stow-away?" Steve said, making Shuri roll her eyes.

"You can't hide in a ship for weeks," she scolded. "You'll both get sick. Just pay for passage on a merchant ship. This should more than cover it."

James embraced her when they parted. "Thank you," he murmured. "I hope we meet again."

"Of course we will," she replied, smiling at him. "You can come to visit me one day." She turned to Steve next, offering her hand out. "Farewell."

"Farewell, Shuri," Steve said, shaking her hand. "Thank you so much."

After parting ways from Shuri, Steve and James made their way down to the city's biggest dock.

There were plenty of ships, as it was a busy trading port. They needed to find one that would cross the Mediterranean sea and get them close to England.

As Steve didn't speak the local language, he left the bartering up to James. They walked along the piers looking for the right ship, and located a galleon that was bound for Spain in the morning.

"Spain's close enough," Steve said, as they hurried down the pier to the ship.

James found the man to ask for passage, and began a conversation with him in Spanish that Steve couldn't follow. Their tone became heated quickly, with James seeming annoyed and Steve glancing between the two men as they argued back and forth, until he got annoyed himself.

"What's the problem?" Steve asked, as James huffed and grumbled.

"He's asking for too much money," James said in English.

"Can we afford it?" Steve asked, and when James nodded he said, "Just pay him, then. Let's get off this continent while we can."

Reluctantly, James handed over the purse of coins, and finally they were able to board the ship.

"The price was too high," James complained, as they found a space on the deck to look out at the bustling port of Tripoli.

"Well, look on the bright side," Steve said, "now we can't get robbed, because we have no money."

"Hmm." James sent some side-eye to the Spanish sailors. "Not for long."

It turned out that James was rather good at playing cards, and after a couple of games with the crew that evening, he had won them back some coins.

"Is there no end to your talents?" Steve teased him, as they sat side by side on the top deck gazing up at the stars.

A smile spread across James's face. "We shall see."


	4. Four

"I've had an idea," Steve said, as he and James trimmed their beards together below deck of the ship.

"Hm?" James said, expertly using a knife to tidy his hairs.

"For your name," Steve explained, running a wet cloth over his face to finish up. "The Buchanan part can be shortened."

"Büyük," James said, which sounded like a different word to Steve.

"I was thinking more like Buck," he suggested. "Or Bucky?"

James tilted his head in consideration. "Büyük means big. I like it."

"Uh... Buchanan is Scottish," Steve pointed out. "It's a place near Loch Lomond."

James's dark brows bunched together. "Hm," he said, then simply shrugged his shoulder. "Iyi. And Bucky means...?"

Steve shrugged too. "Whatever you want, because it's a nickname. You like Bucky?" he asked. "I think it's nice. Better than James."

This earned Steve an amused laugh, and it was the first time he'd heard his companion laugh.

"Very well," he said. "You may call me Bucky."

The voyage to Spain proceeded without problems, but still took weeks.

Steve and Bucky helped out with chores on the ship, mostly to ease their boredom and to keep good faith with the crew. They had already paid for their passage to Spain, and this should've included food rations, but it paid to make themselves useful.

Even with the chores they still had plenty of time to stand on deck and stare at the sea.

"You ever been out this far west?" Steve asked, one crisp morning as they stood side by side, looking out at the rolling waves.

"Once to Spain," Bucky replied, watching the water. "Beyond that, no."

"You've been to Spain once," Steve said in surprise, "and yet you speak the language fluently?"

"It was a long voyage," Bucky replied. "I read books."

"You must be very good at languages," Steve said. He struggled with French, and besides English and a bit of Gaelic, that was all he spoke.

"I had an excellent education." Bucky smiled wistfully. "My grandfather was a much admired Pasha, an officer for our region. He saw to it that I had tutors."

"I see." Steve watched Bucky curiously. "So, you're from a noble family?"

"Not exactly." Bucky glanced at Steve before looking back out to sea. "My mother, yes, but not my father."

Steve nodded. If Bucky's father had been part English, perhaps that had caused some friction.

"And you, Steve?" Bucky asked, looking to Steve once more. "All the king's knights are noblemen, are they not?"

Steve smiled at that. "Well... that's a long story."

Bucky's eyebrows raised in interest. "We have time for long stories, if you hadn't noticed."

Steve chuckled. "Ah, well... I suppose you'll find out when we get there. I'm a miller's son, nothing more. We made enough to get by, but it was harder when my father died."

"I'm sorry," Bucky said.

Steve shook his head, watching the waves hit the ship's port bow below them. "My mother is wonderful, and we had help. The village all helped us, and... well, to cut a long story short, I helped out an ailing friend who was called to arms, and went in his place at his sister's request." He glanced at Bucky to gauge his reaction, saw again the bunching of dark brows on his handsome face.

"You went to war in a nobleman's place," Bucky said.

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "I thought it was for a good cause, we all did."

"And now?"

"Now..." Steve looked up as a dolphin broke the waves in the distance, spinning above the water before dropping out of sight. "Now, I can only hope to return and do what I should've been doing from the start."

"Which is what?"

Steve looked at Bucky and smiled. "Take care of my people."

When they docked in Spain, Steve and Bucky left the ship and went in search of a vessel bound for England.

Bucky was able to win them enough coin from card games in the local taverna, and once they found a suitable trading ship they bartered passage to England.

Steve was so close to home, he had goosebumps.

Again they both worked on the ship in exchange for food rations, and within the week the shores of England were in sight.

Steve rushed to the side of the boat so he could see, even though the sky was grey and the rain drizzled in his face, the silhouette of the English coast brought a happy tear to his eye.

Bucky, meanwhile, had an intense frown on his face over the bad weather.

The ship docked at Southampton, and Steve bounded down the plank, and then the pier to throw himself upon the English ground. He even bent down to kiss the rocks and dirt, which had Bucky raising a questionable eyebrow at him.

"I'm home!" Steve cried, brimming with joy.

"It's wet," Bucky complained, using his hood to keep the rain off. "And it's getting dark. We will need to stay somewhere tonight."

"We'll need warm clothes as well," Steve said, getting to his feet. "Come, friend. Let me show you my country."

They found an Inn to stay the night, both of them thrilled to sleep on a bed that wasn't a cabin bunk, and no rolling waves to make them feel unwell.

There was only one bed, but big enough to share. With the wind howling outside and getting in through the cracks in the walls, it was warmer to combine body heat.

"Where will we go?" Bucky asked, as they lay side by side under the scratchy blankets.

"North from here," Steve said, stifling a yawn. "We'll take the road to London, then up to Nottingham where my village is."

"Is it far?"

"Fairly," Steve said. "A couple of days, at least. If we leave early tomorrow, we can make it to Berkshire by nightfall and rest there."

"Alright." Bucky yawned too. "Will we need weapons? We have none."

Steve had wondered that too, as they'd already traded all they'd had for passage or food.

"Only if we get robbed," he replied. "And we can find some weapons along the way." He looked over at Bucky in the dark, who'd closed his eyes and begun snoring softly. "I hope," Steve added quietly. "Goodnight, Buck."


	5. Five

Steve slept soundly, and awoke as the sun rose.

He rolled over in the bed only to discover it empty. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Steve leaned up to look about the room for his companion.

Bucky was there, kneeling in front of the window to pray. Bucky did that sometimes each day, and Steve quietly watched, not wanting to disturb. The silver of his metal arm glinted in the morning sunshine as he moved to bow his head and raise up again.

Bucky's arm was healed now, Steve having helped changed the bandages these last few weeks. Bucky still needed the armor over his arm to aid in movement, and he wore it over his linen shirt.

Now they were in a colder climate, Steve supposed they'd need to find Bucky a jacket to wear. It was the beginning of October, nearing the end of the harvest months.

Bucky finished his prayers and stood, looking around at Steve. "You're awake," he stated, as Steve smiled at him.

"Barely," Steve replied. "Shall we see if the Inn will give us breakfast?"

Bucky returned his smile. "What will we offer them? We have nothing left."

"Charms? Smiles?" Steve chuckled. "Maybe you can join a card game to win us some coins?"

"This early in the day?" Bucky gathered up his thin jacket and scarf. "We should be so lucky."

"You don't know the English," Steve said with a laugh.

They were in luck that the Inn had patrons enough downstairs that were game for cards, and were quick to lose to Bucky's skill.

No coins to win this time, but Steve and Bucky were pleased to accept a pouch of food to take on their journey, and a hunting knife with a fine handle.

On their way through Southampton Steve decided they should trade the knife for warm jackets, which they did. Now they were back to being unarmed as they set off north along the dirt road, passing all manner of trade folks going in and out of the port.

"We will have to find what we can along our way," Steve said, as he and Bucky walked side by side on the path.

A shout rose up, and they both had to jump out of the way of a two horse drawn carriage as it rumbled past, splashing mud in its wake. Steve frowned after the carriage, as he and Bucky stepped out of the hedgerow.

"Bucky," he said thoughtfully, "how do you feel about robbing rich people?"

"Hm," Bucky replied, "it would not be my first choice."

"Well..." Steve shrugged, watching the carriage grow further away on the path. "Let's see how hungry we get."

"We cannot eat gold or silver," Bucky pointed out. "And what use are riches on the road? Unless you take it into the towns to trade?"

"Fair point," Steve conceded. "I'm just thinking out loud."

They continued on their way, walking at a steady pace.

"If we had a bow and arrow, or a spear," Bucky mentioned, "we could catch our supper."

"Well, not deer," Steve told him. "You can't poach the king's deer."

Bucky frowned at this news. "Your king who is presently in my homeland, killing my people, won't let his people eat the animals here that roam free?"

Steve tilted his head in a grimace. "Yeah."

"Saçmalik," Bucky muttered under his breath. "Such nonsense."

"Yeah," Steve said again. "Well, it's only a couple days, we'll manage."

They travelled north, past fields being cut for corn, around little settlements and woodland.

Apples were still plentiful, and they foraged for any food they could see that wasn't within sight of the villagers nearby. Apples, blackberries, some mushrooms on the edge of the grassy banks. Steve knew which ones were good to eat. They could make a fire later to roast them.

They filled up their flasks with fresh water at streams, and pressed on up the path.

A couple of travellers on horseback passed them, looking back over their shoulders curiously.

Bucky looked to Steve. "You know them?"

"Uh, no," Steve said, pretty sure he didn't. Or, he hoped not. "They're probably just wondering who we are."

"Or wondering how to rob us," Bucky murmured.

Steve chuckled. "Best press on for Berkshire before nightfall."

They walked all day, only stopping briefly to eat or collect food and water. Steve led them up the great road, which would've taken them into London, but he took them around the working fields of the surrounding villages instead.

Once Bucky realised they were taking the long way round, he pressed Steve on the matter.

"Would it not be wiser to stay the night in a town?" he asked. "We could find an Inn, win more card games."

"Nah, let's keep going," Steve said, putting on a cheery smile.

Bucky came to a stop, and gave Steve a stern look. "You don't want to go into London. Why?"

Steve turned around, shrugging whimsically as he walked backwards. "Let's just say I wouldn't be welcome."

"In a whole town?" Bucky said, an incredulous note in his voice. "What in Allah's name did you do?"

Steve waved away Bucky's concern, turning back to the path ahead. "You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do want to know!" Bucky called after him, jogging to catch up. "Tell me."

"No." Steve grinned.

"Tell me."

"No, Bucky, it's embarrassing."

" _Tell me._ "

They bickered until sundown, Steve refusing to give up this embarrassing titbit of information about his past. (And, really, it was nothing; a drunken brawl in an ale house that had spilled over into gravely offending more people than he'd intended.)

Bucky wanted to know, though.

"Look," Steve said, trying to hold back his laughter, "I'll divulge my secrets if you tell me something embarrassing about you too."

This got Bucky frowning, and Steve was starting to find his frown rather adorable.

"Anything regarding _me_ has no bearing on us here, does it," he said curtly. "We should've gone into London."

"Well, we're past it now," Steve said. "We'll reach the forest before nightfall. It'll all be fine."

"The forest?" Bucky repeated. "You mean to tell me you'd rather sleep in the forest than a town?"

Steve threw a grin at Bucky over his shoulder. "I take it you've never been to London, or you wouldn't ask that question."

They arrived at Berkshire in the early evening twilight.

As they walked up the brow of a hillock and reached the top, they saw the land spread out below them, and the edge of the forest across the field.

"There, see." Steve pointed at the trees. "Windsor forest."

"Very nice," Bucky said dryly. "I suppose we shall find a hole to sleep in for the night? Or perch in a branch like birds perhaps?"

Steve chuckled at Bucky's grumpiness. "We'll find something, Buck." He started off down the hill, taking his steps slowly so as not to slip.

Bucky was at his side, and they'd almost reached the bottom when Steve heard a faint thundering sound in the distance. He looked up in surprise, pausing his steps.

Bucky paused too, and as they searched for the source of the sound they witnessed a great black stag break the line of trees, dashing into the open.

"Wow," Steve breathed. "You don't often see a black one."

"They're not common here?" Bucky asked, as the stag galloped across the grassy plain.

"No," Steve said, watching in awe.

The thundering of hooves grew louder, and Steve felt Bucky's hand grip his arm a moment before several riders broke through the trees. They gave chase to the stag, a rowdy band of folks dressed in furs and leaves, riding an assortment of animals: ponies, deer, wild boars. The rider out in front, riding a huge grey stallion, was a bare chested man with long hair and a pair of antlers upon his head.

"The Wild Hunt," Steve uttered quietly, as the riders blew their horns and went braying after the stag, disappearing into the trees once again.

"Those are not people like you and me," Bucky whispered, still gripping Steve's arm. Steve put his hand around Bucky's arm also, urging him into a brisk jog. "Steve, is it safe?" he asked, as Steve led them to the line of trees.

"Safer than out in plain sight," Steve replied as they reached cover. He dared a glance around the trunk of an oak tree to check their surroundings. "I think they rode off west. We should keep going north."

They hurried through the trees and bracken, Steve leading the way. The sound of horns blowing and hooves pounding the earth grew fainter, and Steve deemed it safe enough to stop and rest at a fallen log.

They had a sip of water, catching their breaths.

"Who are they?" Bucky asked. "Spirits?"

"Kind of," Steve replied, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "They're the Fey. Pagan gods of the wood."

Bucky's dark brows scrunched together as he regarded Steve. "You've seen them before, haven't you?"

"Once," Steve admitted. "A few years ago. It was around this time, actually, a few weeks before Samhain."

"And you lived to tell the tale." Bucky made a considering face. "That bodes well for us."

"Yeah, well..." Steve tilted his head. "But legend says that if you see the hunt, it precedes something big, like war or plague. And last time I saw them it was right before the Crusades started."

"Hm," Bucky grunted. "I see. And to think," he said, giving Steve a look, "we could've been bedding down at an Inn somewhere in London, but no, no. We'll go into the woods. Clearly the safest place to be with magical beings riding around, bringing grave omen with them."

Steve smiled wryly. "It still beats London."


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, thank you for commenting on this fic. I'm thrilled to see people reading it. Hope you like this next chapter.
> 
> (If you're curious about the ballad Steve is singing, you can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjGyLkGJBlI).
> 
> ~~~

"Who killed Cock Robin?" Steve sang merrily, as they walked through the forest in the crisp morning light. "I, said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin! Oh, the birds in the air fell a-sighin' and a-sobbin' when they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin!"

"Steve," Bucky said flatly, walking alongside him.

"When they _heard of the death_ ," Steve sang loudly, carried away with himself, "of poor Cock Robin!"

" _Steve_ ," Bucky repeated. "Susmak. You're announcing our location to everything in the forest."

"Sorry." Steve chuckled, as he held a branch aside for Bucky to pass by. "Spirits like songs. I thought I'd try get them onside."

Bucky gave Steve such a wide eyed look of horror that Steve cracked up laughing.

"Spirits?" he said, his voice going up an octave. "Like those riders we saw?"

"Well, yeah," Steve said, gesturing around them, "and the wood spirits. They're everywhere in the forest. In fact, when we find a stream for water I think we should lay down an offering."

Bucky's facial expression morphed from mild horror to confusion, and he exhaled tiredly. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Sure," Steve said, as they continued down the wooded path. "I grew up in woods like these, and Christianity may have taken root but the Pagan practices are still here too."

"Hm," Bucky said dubiously. He'd seemed a little cranky today, but they'd spent last night on cold hard ground, huddled together in thin clothes for warmth, so they were both cold and tired.

"C'mon, Buck," Steve said, nudging Bucky with his elbow, "let's find water and a nice spot for our lunch. See if we can catch a fish."

"Alright." Bucky smiled briefly. "I like fish."

"Great!" Steve grinned, leading the way. As the song birds in the branches above them chirped and sang to themselves, Steve took a deep breath to sing his next verse. "Who saw him die? I, said the fly, with my little eye, I saw him die! All the birds in the air fell a-sighin' and a-sobbing..."

"Ay, ay, ay," Bucky muttered quietly. "This song is ridiculous."

"That's the point," Steve replied. "It's making fun of King William the second. About a hundred years ago he was killed by an arrow while out hunting in Hampshire, which is back down south where we were yesterday."

"Hm," Bucky said. "I see. And how many verses of this do you plan to sing?"

"Well, let's see," Steve counted off on his fingers, "there's the fish who caught his blood, and the owl who digs his grave, the beetle makes a shroud, the rook is the parson, the dove is chief mourner, and..."

"I'm sorry I asked," Bucky said, and they both shared a chuckle.

"It's supposed to be silly," Steve explained. "Good song, though. Sounds better with more people singing."

Bucky's dark brows quirked in a clear sign that said he disagreed.

"Do you want to sing a song?" Steve offered.

Bucky's lips pursed, and for a moment he looked like he might be considering it, but then he shook his head once.

"No."

"Then you'll have to join in with me and Cock Robin," Steve teased.

They walked all day, only stopping to find water and to eat, until the sun set behind the hills and the light faded.

As they were still deep in the forest they had to find another resting spot for the night. Luckily they came across a rocky outcropping on a small bank of trees, providing a natural shelter from the wind.

They made camp there and built a fire as the sky grew dark. They'd saved one fish from their lunch earlier that day, which Steve skewered on a roasting stick to put over the fire.

One small fish wouldn't be enough for two men, but it would have to do. All they had left now was some apples and blackberries, and a bit of water, but they'd be out of the forest by tomorrow and able to find village settlements to trade with.

It was cold, the autumnal night clear and breezy, with bright stars peeping through the tree branches above.

Steve was used to camping out in the woods but not in such thin clothes. He shivered while he and Bucky both huddled by their small fire to keep warm, tending to it with sticks to keep the embers going.

They'd been lucky so far, that they hadn't come across anyone else in the forest. People lived and hid in the woods: bandits, outlaws, and poor folks who had nowhere else to go. Steve hoped his offering today of an apple into the stream of fresh water had been enough to appease the river god. They needed some good luck on their journey.

"I'll take first watch, if you like," Steve offered when they'd finished eating. They'd have to take turns all night, to make sure nobody snuck up on them in the dark.

Bucky was silent, head tilted to the side. "I hear something," he whispered.

Steve listened too, and heard the distinct snap of a twig underfoot as someone approached. He got to his feet, as did Bucky, and they turned this way and that to search the outline of trees in the firelight.

"Who's there?" Steve demanded. "Show yourselves!"

"Steve," Bucky gasped, tugging at his arm. "Something's here."

Steve turned and looked up at the bank above them, where an unnatural and eerie blue glow now illuminated the trees.

"What is this?" Steve said, taking a step back so see.

Slowly, something came into view, and at first Steve thought it was just a stag when he saw the large antlers, but then the outline revealed it to be a man: a tall, broad, and bare chested man with long dark hair.

"Steve," Bucky whispered at his side, "who is it?"

"Herne the Hunter," Steve whispered back. "He leads The Wild Hunt."

"Well, what does he want?" Bucky hissed.

"Outlaws," Herne spoke to them, his deep voice echoing out and rustling the leaves in the trees. "Do you fear me?"

Steve felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, face to face with an ancient Pagan god, but he trusted his gut instinct that told him they weren't in danger.

"No, my lord," he replied steadily. "Pray tell, what do you want with us?"

"Heed me," Herne said, voice rumbling the ground they stood upon. "They all come to the forest: the afflicted, the starving, the poor and the dispossessed. They weep among my trees and bring their sadness with them. You," Herne raised his hand to point directly at Steve, "are their hope. They all wait for you to lead them. So must it be, robbin' of the hood."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Steve asked. "We're not outlaws?"

"You will be," Herne replied, and clicked his fingers. "Take these horses and provisions. My gifts to you both."

Out of the darkness, two nimble horses trotted forth: bridled and saddled with supplies and weapons. Bucky murmured in awe under his breath, reaching out to stroke one horse's neck.

"Lift this sadness from my woods," Herne told them, "help the people, and I will watch over you. To Sherwood forest you must go. There are many in need."

Steve shared a look with Bucky, who tilted his head as if to say, well, why not? "Um, alright," Steve said, turning back to Herne. "But how will we know who to help?"

"You will know," Herne said gruffly. "Look for the bard, for the scarlet woman, the falconer and the friar. They will show you the way. Use my trees for protection and wear your hood. The people will know the hooded man and will follow you, robbin' of the hood."

"Um, alright," Steve agreed, not wanting to say no.

Herne melted away into the trees and the blue light faded with him, leaving only darkness behind.

Steve stared at the vacant spot for the longest moment, the snap and crackle of their fire filling the silence until one of the horses snorted.

"Steve?" Bucky prompted. "Are you alright?"

"Um, yeah?" Steve turned to Bucky, saw him holding the bridles of both horses. "Wow. We have gifts."

"Yes," Bucky said. "There's bedrolls here, and clothes."

Steve was relieved to hear that. "They'll keep us warm. Let's put them on."

They inspected the bundles of clothes and the weapons too. The dark, mottled horse seemed to have Bucky's things, and the lighter horse had Steve's. Steve gratefully pulled on the extra layers of warm clothes, along with reinforced forearm guards and a soft leather shoulder cape with a hood attached.

"How do I look?" he teased, pulling his hood up.

"Like a bandit," Bucky replied, adjusting his own clothes. His layers were similar to Steve's own but in darker shades, almost as if whoever had picked these outfits had done so in order to compliment Bucky's particular coloring. He had leather forearm guards that archers used, whereas Steve's guards were for a swordsman.

"What weapons did you get?" Steve asked, inspecting their new wares.

They had a bow and a quiver of arrows each, though Steve's eye was drawn by a beautiful sword on his horse's saddle. He took down the sword and belt, drawing it from the hilt. In the firelight, the blade glistened, its metal etched with Celtic markings.

"This looks brand new," he murmured. "Although, strangely, it reminds me of my grandfather's sword."

"And these," Bucky said, unsheathing two blades to hold them up: dark and curved short swords like the Saracens used. "They remind me of my family's heirlooms."

"How come you got two and I got one?" Steve teased.

Bucky shrugged. "I fight with two. Though I am a better archer."

"Oh, are you now," Steve said. "Maybe you'd like to go catch us some dinner, then?"

"No, need." Bucky sheathed his swords and gestured to the horses. "There is a bag of food for us."

"There is?" Steve was equal parts dubious about eating food from the Fey and just relieved to have something to eat. "What have we got?"

"Looks like..." Bucky opened up a bag to look. "Bread, cheese, salted meats, and fruit."

Steve's stomach rumbled in anticipation. "I'll gather more firewood, you get the food ready. We'll sleep with full bellies tonight."

Sleeping in thicker clothes and on bedrolls was infinity warmer and more comfortable, and between keeping watch both Steve and Bucky managed a good night's sleep until morning.

They continued on their path when the sun was up, leading their horses by bridle and on foot through the dense trees until they found the path.

Now they had weapons to defend themselves with, the path was an option to them. Steve estimated they'd be out of the forest before noon.

The horses were even tempered, and although they snorted a fair bit they seemed content enough to let Steve and Bucky get in the saddle. The pair rode side by side along the quiet path, Steve looking ahead and Bucky checking the treeline around them.

"If you'd rather stay in the trees, we can get off the path?" Steve offered.

Bucky shook his head. "The quicker we leave the trees, the better."

Steve smothered a smile. Bucky seemed a bit spooked by the whole thing, but Steve felt safe in the woods. If Herne the Hunter had appeared in the flesh to tell them he was watching over them, that was good enough for Steve.

"I can sing if it makes you feel better?" he said, then hummed Cock Robin under his breath.

Bucky glowered at him faintly, which made Steve laugh.

"We'll be at a village soon," Steve pointed out. "Cheer up, Buck."

Bucky had his pair of swords strapped to his back, and his quiver of arrows belted to his side. The newly gifted long cloak he now wore concealed the weapons. Only the black and double curved bow he carried was visible.

Steve's bow was more English in appearance, a simple long bow like he was used to. It was strange how the weapons Herne had gifted them seemed to reflect their respective skillset and backgrounds. Steve's sword was that of an English knight, and he wore it belted securely to his hip. He had a new cloak too, though it was packed in his saddle bag for now, while his quiver of arrows and bow were slung over his shoulder.

For all Herne's talk of the poor and afflicted hiding in the woods, Steve was surprised they hadn't come across anyone else in the woods yet.

"That looks like the treeline," he said, pointing up the path. The trees thinned out, giving way to flat grassland and bright sunshine.

"At last," Bucky replied, as they trotted the last few yards of the wooded path. "Where to now?"

"If I remember right," Steve said, scanning the horizon, "there's a village just over there. This path leads back onto the great north road, biggest trade route to London."

"Would this village have an Inn?" Bucky asked.

"No, it's too small," Steve said, as they rode along the path, "but they're farmers, so plenty of opportunity to make trades."

Except when they got within sight of the village, they were met with a dozen peasants running toward them: women and children, led by one man.

"Steve?" Bucky said, as they slowed their horses. "What's this?"

"I don't know," Steve said, as they watched the peasants approach. They were serfs, and they looked scared and out of breath. When they spotted Steve and Bucky they halted in alarm.

Steve raised his hand calmly. "Greetings, people of Windsor," he called out. "What are you running from?"

The peasants clearly wilted with relief, and the man with them urged the women and children on up the path.

"Hide in the woods," he instructed them, then stopped to address Steve. "It's Commissioner Sitwell and his men, m'lord. They're arresting anyone who can't pay."

"What's a commissioner?" Bucky asked Steve.

"They collect taxes on behalf of the king," Steve told him, as his horse snorted loudly and shook his head, like the remark had offended him.

"Aye," the peasant cut in, "and they're also assaulting the women."

"What?" Steve said in surprise. "They're doing that right now?"

"Yes, m'lord," the man replied. "That's why I tried to get as many of the girls out of there as I could."

Steve shared a look with Bucky, silently asking if he was on board with getting involved. Bucky tilted his chin down in a nod, and Steve nodded in turn.

They would do something about this.

"What's your name, good man?" Steve asked the peasant. "And how many men does Sitwell have?"

"Bard's son, m'lord. Clint Bard's son," he said. "And Commissioner Sitwell has maybe a dozen men with him, all armed, m'lord."

"I'm no lord," Steve said, pulling his hood up over his head. "Clint, is there a way we can approach the village without being seen?"

"Aye, there's a small copse of trees just there." Clint pointed off to the right. "If you circle in from the copse, you'll see the village square right in front of you."

"Then we'll go in that way," Steve said. "My thanks to you, Clint. Stay out of sight now." He pulled back on his horse's reigns, looking to Bucky. "Let's go."

They set off, galloping the long way around the village and into the nearby copse of trees for cover.

The village was mere yards away across a grassy plain, its little huts and pens for animals situated around a small square. Steve and Bucky watched from the trees, gauging the scene. As Clint had told them, Sitwell the commissioner was easy to spot in his royal robes, standing in the village square while he harassed some more peasants along with a dozen armed guards backing him up.

They weren't on horses; if they had horses at all. The guards probably thought their presence was enough to bully some poor villagers into submission. But Sitwell hadn't accounted for two trained knights to join in.

"Can you cover me from here?" Steve asked Bucky.

"Easily," Bucky replied, and made ready his bow. "Am I killing or wounding?"

"I'll go in and give them one chance to retreat," Steve said. "After that, they're all yours."

"Tamam _._ " Bucky smiled. "Good luck."

Steve smiled in turn, then eased his horse into a canter across the grassy plain. "Be a good horse for me," Steve told him as they approached the village border. "Let's give them a fright."

The horse snorted, and Steve drove him into a gallop right into the village square. The peasants and the commissioner's guards scattered in surprise, and Steve's horse reared up on his hind legs with a mighty neigh, knocking its hooves out dangerously at anyone who came near.

The guards drew their swords as Sitwell yelled from behind them, "You, there! Halt! I am the king's man!"

Steve's horse dropped down onto all fours again, and Steve glanced around at the villagers all shying away behind him. He'd put himself between them and the guards on purpose.

"You, sir," Steve replied, facing Sitwell. "You and your guards have been accused of assault. What say you to the charge?"

Sitwell looked outraged, but the villagers spoke up before he could. "They did!" one woman cried. "They assaulted my daughter because we have no coin!"

"We can't pay their taxes!" another villager cried. "We have nothing left! They took everything from us!"

"It seems this village finds you guilty of the charge," Steve called out, and drew his sword. "Leave now. This is your only warning."

"I'll have your head, sir!" Sitwell blustered in reply. "Guards! Seize him!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Steve said, then glanced round at the villagers. "Get to cover!" he ordered them.

As the guards approached his horse with their swords drawn, the villagers scattered. Steve swung his sword down at the first guard to engage with him, injuring his shoulder as the whistling sound of two arrows shot through the air.

Steve saw two of the guards go down with arrows in the chest and in the neck, which set panic among the remaining guards as they looked for where the archer was. Steve used the distraction to cut down two more guards, as more arrows flew in with deadly accuracy.

The guards were swiftly taken out, and without them Sitwell made a run for it. Steve sent his horse after him. "Not so fast!" He grabbed the older man by his robes, dragging him along the ground as he galloped out of the village. Sitwell shrieked and pleaded until Steve slowed his horse and tossed Sitwell into the dirt.

"Now," he said, looking down on the defeated man from atop his horse, "if I hear of you or your men making trouble in villages again, I'll run you through."

"Please don't kill me," Sitwell babbled, lying in the dirt. "Please don't kill me."

"Then heed my words. Let the people be." Steve turned his horse around and left Sitwell there, trotting calmly back to the village.

There was a mixed reaction upon his return, where the wounded or dead guards still lay on the ground, the peasants gathering around to look and murmur.

"What if they send more men?" one worried peasant asked Steve.

"Say you were set upon by bandits," Steve told them, glancing up as he noticed Bucky's horse approach. Clint and the other peasants were with him. "Bandits with good morals," Steve added with a smile.

As the peasants re-entered the village, they all embraced each other, chattering nervously.

Bucky's horse trotted over to Steve. "A success?" he asked.

"I'd say so," Steve replied, as Bucky nodded then got down from his horse. He went about retrieving his arrows as Steve got down too and spoke to the villagers.

After they'd bartered for refreshments for their horses and a bit of food to take with them along the journey, they left the village before people started asking too many questions.

"Your land is in turmoil," Bucky commented, as they re-joined the path and rode on north.

"Yes," Steve agreed, pushing his hood off his head. "More than I'd realised. I guess this is what Herne was talking about."

"M'lords!" someone called after them. "M'lords!"

Steve looked round, as did Bucky, and they saw Clint running up the path after them, now wrapped in a warm jerkin with an instrument strapped to his back that bounced up and down as he ran.

"Don't tell me the commissioner came back?" Steve asked, as Clint came to a stop beside them, panting for breath.

"No, m'lord," Clint panted. "He's long gone. No, I just thought if you're riding north I can accompany you to the next village. I want to check on my cousin there."

"Sure," Steve agreed, as he had a good feeling about Clint. "The more the merrier."

Clint grinned. "Thank you, m'lord."

"It's Steve," Steve told him. "And this is Bucky."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintances," Clint said, pulling his instrument around front to reveal a wooden lyre. "I thought I'd write a ballad to celebrate your victory today."

"Oh, yes, you're a bard." Steve smiled, then looked at Bucky, who seemed very unimpressed by the whole situation. "Tell me, Clint, do you know the song who killed Cock Robin?"

"Aye, I do!" Clint strummed the strings of his lyre.

"What? No," Bucky said, as Clint started singing the song.

"Who killed Cock Robin?" he sang, walking up the path ahead of them.

"I, said the sparrow," Steve joined in singing, as Bucky grunted softly in annoyance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I made Clint a bard! (He'll shoot arrows too, dw.) One merry man down, who do you think is next??
> 
> Also I love how Steve is all "yes, destiny!" And Bucky is more "fuck these woods, man." 😂
> 
> (I have an art commission coming of Steve and Bucky from this au, I'm so excited!! ahh)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you enjoyed the story, please leave me a comment!
> 
> Rebloggable posts for this fic [on tumblr](https://jro616.tumblr.com/post/633353837017776128/the-hooded-man-stucky-au) and [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/jro616/status/1321956992110465029?s=19).


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